


Risky Business

by persephone_stone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blogger Pansy, Charlie Owns a Creature Sanctuary, Entrepreneur Ron, F/M, Forgiveness, Growth, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Sexual Content, Therapy, Thirsty Pansy, dragon metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephone_stone/pseuds/persephone_stone
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson attends a small business owners' conference in Southern California, and runs into the last person on Earth she expects to see: Ron Weasley. A kind, funny, andveryfit Ron Weasley. Will their time together inspire her to take the biggest risk of her life?Written for Hermione's Nook Naked Weasley Fest.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Comments: 40
Kudos: 92
Collections: Hermione's Nook Naked Weasley Fest!





	Risky Business

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to my beta, [granger_danger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/granger_danger/pseuds/granger_danger) for her editing and encouragement!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://persephonestone.tumblr.com/)!

Pansy Parkinson lounged by the pool of her hotel, pushing her designer sunglasses up the bridge of her nose to keep the warm Southern California sun out of her eyes. She wore a sleek one-piece swimsuit, cut low in the front and high in the legs, and her skin glistened with the muggle sunscreen she had put on in lieu of a sunbathing charm, which would not allow for the golden glow that she was after. She knew her strengths, and she looked _good_ with a tan. Her bag sat next to her on the ground, a romance novel and the program for the week’s small business owner’s conference resting safely within it. She hadn’t bothered looking at either, instead enjoying her late afternoon sunbathing session; a reward for herself after a long day of meetings and workshops with her fellow wizarding entrepreneurs.

She heaved a dramatic sigh, throwing one arm up over her head.

Los Angeles was obviously much different from what she was used to. The weather was nicer; she could walk to the ocean and sink her toes into clean, warm sand; the food was amazing.

But Pansy had noticed subtler differences, too. The wizarding community in Southern California was more welcoming, more inclusive. Here, five years after the end of the war, no one looked twice at her. No one whispered about her behind her back—or worse, said horrible things straight to her face. No one knew who her parents were or that her father had narrowly escaped an Azkaban sentence, instead accepting exile from British wizarding society to live with his wife as a muggle couple in Florida.

It was peaceful here. Calm.

 _Maybe I should move here_ , Pansy thought, reaching for her frozen margarita.

As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she dismissed it with a sniff. Of course she couldn’t live here. Her life was in London. Her business was in London. Her few remaining friends were in London.

She was only in town to attend the conference. Her own business, a lifestyle blog for modern witches, had been a surprising success for her. She offered advice to witches in the 18-35 demographic on dating, fashion, cooking, and beauty charms, and advertisers paid her handsomely to market their products on her site. It wasn’t the most rewarding job, but it paid her bills. Three more days of this conference and she’d be back at work in her rainy, dreary flat.

Where she lived alone.

And worked alone.

And had she mentioned that it rained almost constantly? Because it did.

And the food...she knew it was sacrilegious to denigrate traditional British wizarding fare, but if she could, she would eat street tacos every day for the rest of her life.

She sighed, shaking those useless thoughts from her head. Setting her glass down, she stood, stretching briefly before striding to the pool’s edge, diving into the cool water, kicking hard to propel herself toward the shallow end before breaking the surface with a gasp.

She heard a loud splash behind her, and turned in the water to see a group of men from the conference taking turns jumping into the deep end, each trying to produce a larger splash than the last.

The first cannon-baller surfaced, shaking water out of his hair. His shockingly red hair.

“Bloody hell!” his voice called to the others. “That one was shite! I need a diving board to do a proper splash.”

 _Oh no_ , thought Pansy. The red hair. The voice. The “bloody hell” catchphrase. _It couldn’t be…_

The red-head turned, and she felt her stomach drop. It was.

Ron Weasley.

War hero, best friend of The Boy Who Lived (Whom She Had Also Tried To Turn Over to You-Know-Who), last son in the most obnoxiously large pureblood family in wizarding Britain, fucking _Gryffindor_ Ron Weasley.

She quickly turned her back, paddling over to the side of the pool and trying desperately not to draw the group’s attention.

 _Fuck_ , she thought, realizing that her towel and bag were right next to where they were holding their competition. There was no way she could get by them without being seen.

 _Stop it, Pansy,_ she scolded herself. _You are not a coward. Just walk over there like you own the place. They probably won’t even say anything to you; they’ll just pretend you don’t exist or give you a dirty look. You can handle a dirty look._

Nodding at her internal pep talk, she put on her most confident mask and sashayed up the pool steps, letting her hips sway as she walked back to her lounge chair and grabbed her towel. She kept her back to the pool as she dried off, only turning to lean over and pick up her bag, fully planning on beating a hasty retreat to her hotel room for a nice shower and some room service.

“Parkinson?” Ron’s voice came from below her, sounding incredulous and stunned but—surprisingly—not angry.

She met his gaze, feigning surprise. “Weasley,” she returned.

He swam to the side of the pool, hoisting himself up and out of the water to walk over to where she stood.

 _Oh, what the fuck,_ Pansy thought, wits temporarily taking a leave of absence. Because Ron Weasley—pale, freckled, scrawny, _stupid_ Ron Weasley—had gotten fit.

Rivulets of water streamed from his fiery hair, running down his defined pecs and then lower to his stomach, where abdominal muscles rippled with the movement of his body. Her brain short-circuited as her eyes continued tracking the water, past the “v” of his hips and over the impressive bulge in his tight swim trunks.

 _Nope_ , she told herself. _You are not going to stare at his crotch, Pansy. Even if it looks like it could provide you with more shade than the umbrella you’re currently standing under._

She yanked her gaze back up his body to meet his eyes, finding him smirking at her. He raised his brows, but didn’t comment on her embarrassing moment of insanity.

“You here for the conference?” he asked, crossing his _crazy toned_ arms in front of his chest.

Pansy nearly stomped on her own foot to prevent herself from gawking. “Erm, yes. Yes, I am. You?”

“Yeah,” he responded, flashing her a smile. _Had he always smiled like that? Had his teeth always been so even and white?_ “Nice here, innit?”

“Quite,” she replied, examining her perfectly manicured nails to avoid embarrassing herself. Then, because apparently she was living in some kind of alternate universe where she had no self-control: “Are you staying at this hotel?”

He smiled again, moving closer to stand in the shade of her umbrella, seeming totally at ease with his wet, ninety-percent-naked body. “Oh, here? No. I’m staying with my brother Charlie. He lives in Santa Barbara,” he said, squinting down at her. “With his wife and kid. Runs a magical creature sanctuary.”

Despite her best attempts at self-preservation, she found herself interested in what he was saying. She moved a bit closer, towel wrapped securely around her body, plan to retreat to her room abandoned.

“What kind of magical creatures?” she asked, looking up at him. _Merlin, he’s tall._

“Oh, you know. The usual ones rich wankers try to keep as pets until they get mauled or eaten,” he laughed. “Hippogriffs, pixies, hinkypunks, phoenixes. He’s even got a small dragon, ‘bout the size of a dog.”

“ _A dragon?_ ” she breathed, leaning forward in astonishment.

He nodded, pushing his hair back from his face in a way that made his biceps flex in a most distracting manner. “I can take you to see it. You know, if you want,” he added as an afterthought, his confidence faltering a bit.

“Oh!” she responded, shaking her head at him. “No, I—I’d like that.”

He grinned at her again, and this close it was even more confusing than it had been a few moments ago. _Seriously, what the fuck?_

“The lads and I were going to get changed and go for a bite,” he said, gesturing to the men in the pool who were absolutely watching them but actively pretending not to. “It’s too late to go to the sanctuary now, but I could take you to see it tomorrow?” He said it like it was a question, like he still wasn’t sure she really wanted to go.

“That would be nice,” she offered. Then, because she _was_ still Pansy Parkinson, after all: “I suppose.”

Ron shuffled his _fucking huge_ bare feet, seeming to have an internal debate before asking, “Do you want to come to dinner with us tonight? Could be fun,” he added with a shrug.

“Oh, no I can’t,” she responded, then immediately regretted her hasty rejection.

“Too bad, Parkinson,” Ron smiled, easy confidence returning as though he could tell she was actually quite interested. “Would’ve been nice to catch up.”

She nodded, biting her tongue to prevent herself from saying she’d actually like that very much as well, _Ronald_.

Ron turned to walk to a nearby lounge chair, picking up his own towel and wrapping it around his shoulders. Pansy absolutely _did not_ ogle his arse the entire way.

“If you change your mind,” he said over his shoulder, causing her to jerk her gaze guiltily back up to his face, “I’ll wait for you in the lobby at 7 o’clock.”

At 6:30, Pansy sat on her hotel bed, freshly bathed and feeling _very_ out of sorts. Part of her wanted nothing more than to have dinner sent up to her room and then have a lovely date with her vibrator, all while decidedly not thinking about Ron’s shockingly fit body and apparently enormous penis.

At 6:45, she stood in front of her hotel’s tiny closet wearing only her knickers, waffling between putting on a pair of satin pajamas or a dress.

At 6:58, she cursed loudly, pulling on a sleeveless white sundress that made her newly-tanned skin glow. She used her wand to quickly style her hair and put on a bit of makeup, then slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and hurried downstairs.

Ron was waiting for her near the lifts, and _Jesus fuck_ if he didn’t look just as alarmingly mouth-watering now as he had in his swimming trunks. Pansy was proud that her stride didn’t falter as she walked toward him, subtly observing his fitted muggle jeans and navy button-down.

His face went blank when he saw her, but he quickly recovered, grinning and waving her over. “Glad you made it!” he said.

The funny thing was, she believed him.

They walked outside to the apparition point, the lazy Los Angeles sun just beginning to sink to the level of the palm trees above their heads. Ron offered her his arm, and they were off.

Dinner was a lively affair. Pansy was quite used to being surrounded by boys—her closest friends were Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini, after all—but these boys were different. Louder, freer, sillier. She held her own against them, deploying her signature withering looks and sarcastic remarks in response to their good-natured joking about how she and Ron knew each other.

As they ate, Ron gave her a brief rundown of his connection to the other two wizards. Ron’s company, a review website for wizarding restaurants, hotels, and other service industries called the Online Wizarding Review Database, or ONWARD, used technology developed by Ben, a friendly wizard from Canada, and graphics drawn by David, an American wizard with several tattoos.

Pansy tried to listen, she really did. His business was actually quite interesting, and used by wizards across the United Kingdom. He was getting ready to market it to a North American audience, and was sharing all sorts of surprisingly astute details about what exactly that entailed.

But unfortunately, he was also sitting very close to her, his thigh practically touching hers in the cramped booth. And it was quite loud in the restaurant, so he had to lean in close to her ear to be heard, which meant that his breath ghosted over her neck and shoulders as he spoke, which also meant that she had spent the entirety of their meal fighting the shivers that wracked her body.

“I need the loo!” she blurted out suddenly, interrupting a joking conversation Ron and David were having across the table from one another.

Ron slid out of the booth, extending a hand to help her out. She made her way to the back of the restaurant, cheeks flaming in embarrassment at how _un_ -Pansy like her behavior had been ever since Ron had pulled his tall, muscled, _supremely fuckable_ body out of the hotel pool.

But really, more than his physical appearance had changed in the five years since they’d last seen each other. The Ron Weasley she remembered from Hogwarts was petulant and lazy, content to just follow Harry Potter and Hermione Granger around and insult Draco. _This_ Ron Weasley was warm, friendly, and driven. He had asked her questions about her own business and really listened to her answers.

The contrasts between the boy she had gone to school with and the man having dinner with her now were dizzying.

She slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and staring at herself in the mirror. “Get it together, Pansy,” she hissed at her reflection, lightly slapping herself on both cheeks. “It’s _Weasley_ , for Merlin’s sake.”

They returned to the hotel shortly after her bathroom lecture. Ron accompanied her into the lobby to say goodnight, leaving her with a quick hug and a promise to meet up with her tomorrow so they could go to the creature sanctuary.

Back in her room, she mindlessly went through her bedtime routine; brushing her teeth, washing her face, changing into her pajamas, climbing into bed. But thoughts of Ron were like a bludger to her peace of mind; she couldn’t stop thinking about his easy smile, his friendly conversation, his gentle treatment of someone he had every right to hate.

It was a long time before sleep found her.

Even after an assist from her vibrator.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pansy had never experienced a slower day than the one after Ron Weasley came hurtling back into her life. The workshops she had been looking forward to when she first signed up for the conference dragged, the hours crawled, and even the street tacos she had for lunch didn’t taste as good.

She was moody, rolling her eyes at a presenter’s moronic ice breakers and sulking when another ran out of handouts before she received one. She snapped at a wizard who accidentally stepped on her foot during a coffee break, and nearly hexed a witch who sat next to her in her afternoon workshop and proceeded to loudly demolish a bag of crisps.

When her last meeting finally ended—thankfully without any bloodshed, she rushed to her room to change, choosing a pair of dark linen shorts and a flowy tank top. She and Ron had agreed to meet in the lobby again, so she headed back downstairs, tossing a book in her bag to read while she waited.

He walked out of one of the hotel’s meeting rooms a few minutes later, looking just as edible as he had the day before in an olive green polo and tan trousers. The colors offset his hair in a way that made it look a bit like the sky at sunset, Pansy thought, followed immediately by _oh, fucking hell, Pansy_.

“Hey, Parkinson!” he called, striding over and pressing his body to hers in a much too brief side hug.

“Weasley,” she returned calmly, but she was smiling at him when she said it. He smiled back, and her heartbeat tripled in speed.

“You ready to see a dragon?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and leading her outside. Rather than heading left to the apparition point, he led her to the right, where a vintage Mercedes sat waiting for them at the curb.

“That’s not a dragon,” Pansy said as he moved to open the passenger door for her.

“Not technically, no,” he replied as she slid inside, warm leather caressing the bare skin of her legs. “But the ride is much nicer. I would know,” he added with a wink, closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.

They took the scenic route from the hotel to Santa Barbara, which took over an hour. But the time flew by as Pansy gazed out the window, marveling at the sun sparkling off the ocean, the pristine sandy beaches, and Ron’s red hair blowing in the breeze.

They also had time for some one-on-one conversation during the drive, which managed to surprise Pansy even further.

“How do you know how to drive a muggle car?” she had asked as they merged seamlessly into traffic, Ron for all the world seeming as if he’d been doing this very thing for years. “An _American_ muggle car, no less?”

His lips quirked into a crooked smile, eyes never leaving the road in front of him. “I come out here a lot to visit Charlie and his family, and he taught me how to drive one. I like it here. It’s slower than London.”

She nodded, “I was just thinking the same thing. I can’t really believe that we have to go back home in a few days.”

“Oh, are you leaving then?” Ron asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He seemed disappointed.

“I have to. My whole life is in London,” she replied, realizing again as she said it how sad it actually was. Her entire world was made up of a posh flat, a rather embarrassing blog, and two friends who were increasingly busy with their own lives.

He said nothing for a moment, gripping the wheel in silence as he exited the freeway. “That’s too bad, Parkinson,” he finally offered. “I’ll be staying on for a bit. Have to get the new website up and running, make sure it’s taking off here.”

She didn’t know why the thought of him being on an entirely different continent, separated by an entirely too large ocean, made her feel a bit melancholy. Apart from her shameless ogling of his body, they had only had one dinner and a bit of conversation. Yet she couldn’t help it; she was strangely captivated by Ron Weasley.

“How long do you think you’ll stay here?” she asked him, tucking her hair behind one ear.

He shrugged. “Not really sure, yet. Maybe forever, if I’m being honest. Like I said, I like it here quite a bit. Mum and Dad have enough kids and grandkids to keep them from missing me, and portkeys are easy enough to use. I could set up a base for the American branch of ONWARD in Los Angeles; get a proper office space for a good deal cheaper than in London.”

She nodded, feeling even further conflicted about him possibly never returning to England.

“What about you?” he asked, arching a brow in her direction. “Couldn’t write your blog from a sunny beach in California?”

“I guess I could,” she answered, turning the idea over in her head for what felt like the hundredth time in the past few days. Her fingers rubbed the leather of the car’s seat anxiously for a moment before admitting: “Although really, I don’t even like doing the blog.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, shooting her an incredulous glance. “Why are you doing it then?”

“It pays the bills that need to be paid,” she responded frostily, not wanting to get into a conversation about the enormous debt her parents had left her in when they had been exiled. They tried to help by sending money to her once a month, but the primary responsibility—fair or not—fell on her shoulders.

“Well, what don’t you like about it?” he asked, guiding the car along a winding, tree-lined road.

“Quite a few things, actually.” She paused, hesitant to go into further detail, but he just sat, quiet and patient, eyes on the road, until she sighed and gave in. “It just feels very silly,” she began. “There are more important things for witches to read about than ‘the best lipstick color to make that wizard notice you,’ or ‘the top three dress silhouettes to make your arse look smaller,’ or ‘ten blowjob techniques to have him getting down on _his_ knee.’”

“Wait, is that last one real?” he squeaked out, and she laughed.

“No, but it may as well be.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, leaning back against the headrest and gazing out the window again. “I just—I feel embarrassed that this is the kind of drivel I write. I’d much rather be writing about laws being passed at the Ministry of Magic, or educational reforms at Hogwarts, or...fucking anything else, really. But no one wants to hear from me—not even about blowjob techniques. I have to write my blog anonymously.”

“Why?”

She shot him a look of disbelief, finding him returning her gaze steadily. _He was serious._

“The first blog I started, right after the war, was under my name. I published one article—one—and received a howler every five minutes for a solid day. I shut that one down and started my current one under a pseudonym.”

“I’m sorry, Pansy,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t okay for people to treat you that way.” He fell silent for a moment, thinking, then added: “Do you think you could publish your writing in the states? As yourself?”

“Probably,” she replied, shrugging one shoulder. “No one here knows who I am or what I’ve done.”

They both were quiet again for several minutes after that. The only sound to be heard was the quiet rumble of the car’s engine, until Pansy couldn’t take the silence any longer. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she finally asked him.

He frowned, looking confused. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

She laughed, sure that he was joking. When he just shot her a questioning glance from the corner of his eye, her mouth dropped open. “Seriously, Weasley? Because I was a bitch to you during all our years at Hogwarts. Because my father was a You-Know-Who sympathizer who got his wand snapped. Because I tried to hand your bloody best friend over to a homicidal maniac.” She broke off, angry at the tears that threatened to spill over her lashes.

Ron was quiet for a long moment, processing her words. Finally, he spoke. “We weren’t friends at Hogwarts, no. But I reckon that was just as much my doing as it was yours. We were both encouraged to hate—or at least, not to get to know—each other from a young age. You were a Slytherin and I was a Gryffindor and that meant we couldn’t be friends.” He paused, huffing out a sigh. “And I did some really mean, stupid things at school—even to my _actual_ friends—so that one is pretty much water under the bridge,” he said, shrugging.

“You have no control over your dad,” he continued, “just as I have no control over mine. They are who they are. Why should we be punished for what they do? It’s nothing to do with us.”

Pansy stared at him, realizing that this was the first time anyone had ever said anything like that to her. Funny that it was coming from him.

“And as for Harry,” he said, and she braced herself for his anger and disapproval. “I’ve thought a lot about that night. Be lying if I said I didn’t have nightmares three or four times a week. Maybe even five,” he said, flashing her a self-deprecating smile. “But one thing I’ve come to understand is that there’s a difference between doing something because you’re scared, and doing something because you’re evil.”

She held her breath.

“So which were you, Pansy,” he asked softly, and she shivered at the sound of her given name on his lips. “Scared or evil?”

“Scared,” she croaked after a beat of silence. “So scared,” she repeated, and the tears did fall now, trailing down her cheeks as she confessed her most embarrassing sin to him—that she had been terrified and selfish enough to offer up an innocent person to certain death if it meant keeping her and the other students at Hogwarts safe. “I’m really sorry, Ron,” she choked out, wiping furiously at her eyes.

His hand moved to cover hers, large and warm and comforting. “Don’t cry, Pansy,” he said gently, and she felt the car coming to a stop underneath her feet. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His arms came around her then, and she leaned into him, having herself a proper cry on his _fucking lovely_ shoulder, all while his hands gently stroked her back.

“How are you not angry with me?” she asked when she was finally able to speak again, lifting her head to look into his eyes. This close, she could see they had dark flecks of blue in them. They reminded her of the ocean.

He returned her gaze, his closeness steadying her roiling emotions. “Well, I was,” he said, offering her a half smile to soften the blow. “I was angry at everyone and everything for a long time. But then I finally listened to Harry and Hermione, who kept telling me I needed to talk to someone instead of letting the anger destroy my life. So I found a therapist—a good one. At first, I channeled all that anger into my business and exercise, but eventually I learned to let it go. To forgive.”

Pansy stared at him in awe, embarrassed at her own stunted emotional growth in the face of his confession. “That’s really great, Ron,” she said quietly. Then, because her ears had pricked up at the mention of his onetime girlfriend’s name: “So you’re still with Hermione, then?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, I’m not with Hermione. People say that opposites attract, but she and I realized pretty quickly that we were just _too_ opposite. We’re still good friends, though.” He reached up to wipe the last of her tears away, letting his hand linger against her cheek as he asked softly, “Do you really think I’d bring you to my brother’s house if I had a girlfriend?”

Pansy let out a shaky exhale, eyes glued to his, hypnotized by the gentle stroke of his thumb along her cheekbone. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and she inhaled again sharply. Could he feel her pulse pounding in her throat? Could he sense the need coursing through her body?

He moved closer to her, lips a mere hair’s breadth away from her own.

“Ron?” a voice called from behind Pansy, causing her to jerk back from Ron in surprise. She turned to find a man who looked almost identical to Ron, except with curlier, longer hair, walking toward their car, which she abruptly realized had been parked in front of a house for the past several minutes.

“Hey, Charlie,” Ron responded, sounding not at all happy to see his older brother.

He pulled away from her, exiting the car and coming around to open her door, extending a hand to help her climb out when she continued to sit there, a bit shell-shocked.

“Charlie, this is Pansy. She’s an old friend,” Ron said, keeping hold of her hand even when Charlie pulled her into a friendly hug.

“Nice to meet you, Pansy,” he said, stepping back and ushering them inside his house. “Any friend of my brother’s is a friend of mine.”

Pansy could only smile, not trusting herself to speak.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold than a small blur of red hurtled toward them, crying, “Uncle Ron!”

Ron briefly let go of Pansy’s hand to catch the blur, who turned out to be a little girl with a mass of red curls and a missing front tooth.

“Hey Jules,” he said, giving her a squeeze before setting her on her feet again. His hand returned to Pansy’s, and the girl’s eyes narrowed on their joined hands.

“Is this your girlfriend?” she asked bluntly, and Pansy was surprised to see a blush creeping up Ron’s throat.

“Mind your business, Jules,” Charlie scolded, shooing her out of the room. “Go help your mum.”

He turned to Pansy, smiling in apology at his daughter’s nosiness. “Ron says you’d like to see the sanctuary? I can take you both over. Then you’re welcome to stay for dinner, if you’d like,” he added.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Pansy replied. “I’m very excited to see your sanctuary.”

“Follow me, then,” Charlie said, leading them down a hall and out the back door of his home, across a small, well-kept lawn, and through his back gate.

They walked across what looked like a barren field, but as they crossed an invisible muggle-repelling barrier, became a lush green plot of land, large enough to cover several city blocks. They passed habitats that had been built for a demiguise, an Abraxan winged horse, a mooncalf, a pair of nifflers—and that was just what Pansy could see as they walked toward the dragon’s lair.

At the far end of the sanctuary, they came to the largest habitat of all. A plaque near the fence railing informed them that a Welsh green dragon resided here, and Pansy held her breath in anticipation.

Charlie waved his wand to let down the magical barrier, then let out a low whistle. A moment later, a small green dragon appeared from the dense thicket of trees at the back of the enclosure. Its scaly nose sniffed the air as it made its way toward them, the frills on its head rippling as it caught Pansy’s scent.

She made to step back, but Ron pressed in close behind her, steadying her with a hand on her hip. “It’s okay,” he murmured close to her ear. “I’ve got you.”

“I thought you said it was the size of a dog,” she hissed at him, and felt him laugh against her back.

“It is. Haven’t you ever seen an English mastiff?” he returned.

Charlie approached the fence, holding his palm out and speaking quietly to the dragon. “Hello, girl. We have a special friend here who wanted to meet you.”

The dragon nuzzled her nose into Charlie’s palm, making a purr-like sound of trust before turning its yellow reptilian gaze on Pansy, coolly observing her as she tried to remain perfectly still, not wanting to startle the glorious creature.

She felt Ron move around her, also extending the flat of his palm to the dragon, who chuffed at him before butting her head against his hand like a cat. Charlie laughed, beckoning Pansy forward. “Ron is Carys’ favorite. She won’t hurt you if he’s with you.”

Pansy approached the fence slowly, smiling uncertainly at the dragon. “Hello, Carys,” she said softly, feeling Ron’s warm hand come to rest on her shoulder. The dragon gazed steadily back at her, intelligent eyes tracing over her face before stepping forward to smell her, warm breath ruffling her dark hair. With a nod from Charlie, Pansy extended her own hand, and Carys smelled her palm appraisingly before gently touching her nose to Pansy’s skin, letting it rest there for a moment before pulling away.

“She’s so beautiful,” Pansy breathed, watching the dragon as she moved away from them, running nimbly around the enclosure, wings flapping. “Does she not fly?”

Charlie gave her a sad smile. “Unfortunately, no. She came to us after MACUSA raided an illegal wizarding smuggling ring. They had stunted her growth with potions and clipped her wings. She’s never flown in her life. Doesn’t stop her from trying, though.”

Pansy blinked, tears stinging her eyes at the cruelty the dragon had known, and at the trust she showed the humans who were now her caretakers. “Brave girl,” she whispered.

Ron made a humming noise behind her, stroking her shoulder with his thumb.

“Ron, can you go check to make sure her water is fresh?” Charlie asked, gaze on his brother’s hand.

Ron eyed his older brother skeptically, but nodded and moved to do as he was asked.

Pansy watched him go, then turned to Charlie. “This is a lovely place you’ve built for these creatures,” she offered, and he smiled at her in thanks.

“I can’t help myself. When I see someone in pain, I have to help them,” he replied. Then, nodding toward Ron, he added, “He’s the same way.”

“He’s different than I remember,” Pansy said, leaning against the fence to watch Ron, who had refilled the water tank in Carys’ pen and was now scratching her behind her frills as she flicked her tail in apparent delight.

“I think we’re all different now,” Charlie said quietly, and she turned at the solemnity she heard in his voice. “But yes, Ron especially. It’s not easy being the youngest son in a long string of them, always being overlooked, never having anything that’s just yours, that wasn’t someone else’s first.”

He leaned on the fence beside her, watching his brother laugh as Carys bumped into him from behind, letting him know he was not dismissed from her company just yet.

“And then he went to school and became best friends with The Chosen One and The Brightest Witch of Her Age,” he continued. “I love those two, but they cast quite a pair of large shadows.”

She nodded, her _stupid_ heart squeezing as she thought of Ron as a child, always surrounded by people but never truly being seen or heard for his own merits. She knew her fair share about lonely childhoods.

“He’s a good man,” Charlie said. “And he’s never brought a girl here before,” he added. The statement was disguised as an afterthought, but Pansy grasped what he was telling her.

“I won’t hurt him,” Pansy replied, surprised by just how much she meant it.

Charlie smiled, whistling at Carys once more to give Ron a chance to leave the pen. “I know,” he replied, turning to look at her with a sad smile. “Like I said, I can always tell when a creature is suffering. The prickliest ones can be the hardest to love. But once you earn their trust, they always love the fiercest in return.”

Ron re-joined them moments later, and with another touch to Carys’ surprisingly soft snout, Pansy said goodbye to the dragon, promising to come back someday to see her again.

They returned to Charlie’s house, where Jules and her mum, a pretty auburn-haired witch named Paige, had dinner ready and waiting for them. They all chatted pleasantly about Ron and Pansy’s respective business ventures until dinner was over and Pansy made her goodbyes, thanking them all graciously for welcoming her into their home.

Rather than drive in the dark, Ron accompanied Pansy through the floo to the hotel, stepping out into the lobby with her and walking her to the lifts. Pansy pushed the button to summon the lift, then stood in awkward silence, fidgeting in a manner that would have made her mother incandescent with rage.

“I had a nice time,” she finally blurted out, which Ron rewarded with a smile.

“So did I,” he said quietly.

“Do you want to meet up again tomorrow? My last workshop is over at four,” she said, as the doors to the elevator slid open.

He looked at her, seeming to weigh his answer carefully. “Will you let me take you out to dinner again?”

She nodded, stepping backwards into the lift.

His feet followed hers, standing in the elevator doors’ path, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. Pansy had a brief hallucination of climbing his body like a tree, winding her hands in his sunset-bright hair while she snogged him stupid, but then he was stepping back, tossing her a jaunty salute and an even jauntier grin. “See you tomorrow, Parkinson,” he said as the doors closed.

Pansy stood there for almost a full minute before realizing she hadn’t yet pushed the button for her floor.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The following day passed in another slow, torturous blur. Pansy couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think of anything but _fucking_ kind eyes and a _stupidly_ fond smile and and a _bloody_ deep voice telling her that he’d forgiven her for something she hadn’t even forgiven herself for yet.

When she finally dragged herself out of her last workshop to change for dinner, she was surprised to find Ron waiting for her.

“Thought you might be in this one,” he said, gesturing to the sign on the door. “Want to grab a drink before we get dinner?”

Fighting down the giddiness that was bubbling its way through her stomach, she nodded. “I was just going to change first. Give me five minutes?”

When she re-entered the lobby, she was wearing a fitted black dress and a pair of high, spiked black heels. She watched Ron’s reaction to her—eyes hot and mouth open in awe—and felt lust pool in her belly, mixing with the giddiness from earlier to form a potent cocktail.

They had their drink in the hotel bar, laughing about the things they’d seen and heard that day. For dinner, Ron took her to a muggle sushi place, where they stole bits of each other’s rolls and shared a bottle of good Japanese sake.

On their way back to the hotel, her arm linked loosely through his, they passed a dance club. The bass from the music inside thumped loudly through the walls, and their eyes met.

Wordlessly, they pushed through the doors and headed straight for the dance floor.

A popular muggle song played over the club’s speakers, and Ron twirled her expertly as they moved to the beat.

She laughed, remembering their fourth year at Hogwarts when he’d had to dance with Professor McGonagall in preparation for the Yule Ball. She told him as much, and he scowled good-naturedly back at her.

“I’ll have you know that my dancing skills have greatly improved since then,” he shouted over the music. “Although McGonagall _was_ a superior partner.”

She smacked his arm with the back of her hand, and he caught it in his before she could pull it back. Spinning her to face away from him, he moved in close behind her, caging her in with his arms around her waist.

Their bodies were barely touching, yet Pansy had never experienced anything quite so sensual. The feel of him at her back, tall and strong and warm, was making her lose her mind. She pressed against him, grinding her arse into his crotch, feeling the thick ridge of his erection through his trousers and hearing him groan low in her ear as his fingers tightened on her hips.

The song changed, shifting to something with a slower, sexier rhythm. Pansy turned to face Ron, placing one hand on his chest while her other hand snaked up and around his neck. He pulled her lower body flush against him, one muscled thigh pressing between hers, making her gasp at the friction against her center.

Their eyes met again, held. She inhaled shakily and his hands flexed at her waist. She pressed her breasts to his firm chest, hearing him draw his own labored breath before his hands dropped to the curve of her arse, fingers gripping her flesh hard enough to leave marks. _Good_ , she thought.

His mouth pressed to her ear, sending flickers of electricity down her spine as he whispered, “I want to kiss you, Pansy.”

She nodded, cheek rubbing against his, fingers anchoring themselves in the hair at his nape.

“Not here,” he said, “I want you all to myself. Want to kiss you for hours, take my time. Then I want to make you come with my mouth and my fingers and my body, in every position you can think of.”

Pansy couldn’t speak; could only pant and nod once more in agreement.

And then they were moving, running out the doors into the warm night air, tripping toward the apparition point. When they arrived in front of the hotel, she took the lead, pulling him by the hand into the lobby, over to the lifts, into an open elevator.

The doors slid shut behind them, but instead of leaping on her as she expected— _wanted_ —he stood against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets and eyes on her face.

“Do you still want to—?” she asked, trying to sound coy but actually feeling so off-balance it was a wonder she could even stand.

He didn’t speak; merely nodded.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she asked, taking a tentative step toward him.

He held a hand up, and she stopped. “We both had a few drinks, and I want you _so_ badly, but I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he choked out, and she saw his fingers tremble. “If you want to wait...”

He broke off as she closed the distance between them, threading her fingers through his. “Ron, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the drive to your brother’s house. I’ve wanted your hands on my body since we went to dinner with your friends. And I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you climbing out of that pool,” she whispered into his ear, thrilling at the way his breath caught at her words. “I’m done waiting.”

“Oh, _gods_ , Pansy,” he groaned, reaching for her. The elevator doors chose that highly inopportune moment to open, so she pulled him out, practically running down the hallway to her room, waving her wand at the door to unlock it, pressing him against the nearest wall as the door shut behind them.

His hands ran over her body, their breaths mingling before he finally ducked his head and captured her lips in a kiss.

Pansy had been kissed many times in her life, by wizards of varying skill levels. But nothing she had ever experienced came close to the feeling of Ron’s lips on hers. Not because they were soft— _they were_ —or because he knew how to use them— _he did_ —but because she had never felt this kind of connection to anyone she had kissed before she kissed _him_.

She opened to him, moaning when his tongue slid inside her mouth to tangle with her own. His hands swept down her back, pressing against her spine to bring her body flush with his before sliding lower to grip her arse once more.

Her own hands were fisted in the front of his shirt, and she forced them to relax, moving them up his broad shoulders and into that thick red hair she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind.

He broke their kiss, moving his lips along her jaw, down the smooth column of her throat, and across the swells of her breasts, licking and sucking and whispering to her.

“Gods, Pansy,” he choked out, “you’re so beautiful. Is this okay?” His hands had moved up her ribcage, coming to a stop underneath her breasts, waiting for her permission to move further, which she gave with a quick nod.

His long fingers grasped the neckline of her dress, pulling it down and exposing her bare breasts to the cool air of the hotel room. He groaned loudly, palming her breasts reverently and making her eyes roll back in her head as he put his clever mouth to use once more, laving one nipple with his tongue while his fingers massaged the other.

Soft mewls escaped her lips, which seemed to stoke Ron’s lust even higher. His hands went to her waist, lifting and turning her in one motion, his body settling between her legs as he pressed her against the wall. _Gods_ , she could feel every glorious inch of him. Meanwhile, his mouth was still hot at her breast, sucking and licking and nipping, sending sparks shooting through her nerve endings as she writhed against him.

“ _Ron_ ,” she breathed, out of her mind at the delicious friction that the hard ridge of his erection was providing against her clit. She used her hands, still threaded through his hair, to drag his mouth back up to hers, kissing him with all the need that had been accumulating inside of her for the past three days.

“Want you so much,” he murmured against her lips. “That day at the pool,” he panted between kisses, “you in that swimsuit— _fuck_.”

She felt a giggle bubbling up her throat, and did nothing to hold it back. “What about your swimsuit, Weasley?” Her laughter turned into a gasp as he shifted her against him, holding her securely by the waist with one strong arm while the fingers of his other hand skimmed up her thigh, pushing her knickers out of the way to stroke between her legs. She tried to continue her earlier train of thought, something made quite difficult by the feel of his nimble fingers playing at her core. “Just what are you playing at wearing something like that to a public pool— _oh!_ ” she cried, electricity crackling through her nerve endings as he pushed one finger inside of her. A second finger soon joined the first, curling and stroking until she was incoherent, dropping her head to his shoulder and hanging onto his body for dear life as she rode his hand. When his thumb came up to rub circles into her clit, she exploded, legs shaking with the force of her orgasm.

Moments later, when she had recovered a bit, she pushed lightly on his chest, and he obediently stepped back and let her feet return to the floor. She pushed him again, hands planted on his chest, moving him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed and he sat, looking up at her like a starving man might look at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Pansy slid her palms down his front, thrilling when she reached his belt buckle and his hips jerked involuntarily. She undid it quickly, opening the front of his trousers and shoving her hand inside his trunks to wrap her fingers around his thick length. Her eyes widened at the feel of him, and she did her best not to salivate. “Holy _fuck_ , Weasley.”

“Ron,” he gritted out as he tried not to thrust into her hand. “Call me Ron, please.”

“Ron,” she agreed, surging forward to claim his lips once more.

If someone had asked Pansy later, she wouldn’t have been able to recall just how they had gone about removing all their clothes. Did she tear her dress trying to get it off, or had that ripping sound been his shirt as she became frustrated with the buttons and just pulled? Did they stop for a moment when his trousers got caught around his ankles, or had he just vanished them? Did he remove her knickers with his teeth, or was she so distracted by the way he enthusiastically went down on her, licking her like an ice cream cone, that she temporarily forgot what knickers even were?

When they were both finally, totally, _wonderfully_ naked, he pulled away from her where she lay spread out against the pillows, body braced on his forearms and chest heaving. She reached for him, but he paused her with a quick shake of his head.

“I just want to look at you. Just for a moment,” he said quietly, brushing her hair back from her face with one shaky hand.

She watched as his eyes trailed down her body, smiled as his breath caught in his throat when they returned to her face, keened when he leaned forward to suck a bruising kiss into her throat. Pushing him down to lie flat on his back, she straddled his hips and lowered her body onto his. The wet warmth of her core was slippery against his length, and she ground against him as he brought his hands up to cover her breasts.

“You can look all you like,” she said as she raised herself up on her knees, lining him up at her entrance and circling her hips. “ _While_ you fuck me.”

His eyes burned into hers as she took him into her body, sinking down one delicious inch at a time until she was seated fully on top of him. She began to move, her arching back and rolling hips echoing the rhythm of the ocean waves crashing outside.

He gripped the cheeks of her arse, anchoring them both in the midst of the roiling sensations. His face, illuminated by moonlight, was so tender that it made her chest ache. Sliding his hands up her back, he pulled her down against him to seize her mouth in another passionate kiss as he thrust up into her. She gasped. Then he rolled them, curling one arm protectively around her back as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling it up and over his hip to give him better access to her aching center.

His _truly magnificent_ cock thrust deep inside of her, building a steady rhythm that had her whimpering into his mouth. And that was _before_ he moved his hand from her thigh, dropping his thumb to her clit and applying firm pressure that had her seeing stars.

“I’m coming, Ron. I’m coming,” she panted into his ear, feeling the waves building, cresting, crashing through her body as his thrusts picked up speed. She cried out as she came, clenching tightly around him, seeking his lips out with hers as he followed closely behind her, moaning out his own orgasm into the depths of her mouth.

He collapsed on top of her, and she stretched languidly beneath him, enjoying the feel of his solid, warm body on top of hers. He whispered her name as he pressed gentle kisses onto her shoulder, up the line of her throat, over her jaw, until he finally reached her lips and kissed her slowly, deeply, sensuously.

When they finally broke apart he rolled onto his side, stretching out next to her. She followed his motion, rolling toward him and placing her hand on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thumping underneath her fingers, the rhythm as steady and sure as the man himself.

“That was…” she trailed off, not sure she could put into words how _different_ it had been from every other time. How _good_. How _right_.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a lopsided grin. “It was.”

His fingers trailed up her throat to gently caress her cheek. She turned her face into his palm, pressing a kiss into his skin, feeling so fucking tender toward him that she barely recognized herself.

 _Maybe that’s a good thing_ , she thought, searching his face carefully, observing the play of emotions—fondness, lust, and something else—that flickered across his freckled face. _Maybe who I was before doesn’t have to be who I’m going to be from now on._

“Are you okay?” Ron asked, as if he could sense her thoughts.

“I’m wonderful,” she replied, a smile spreading across her face.

“I agree,” he said, laughing as she pushed him back onto the pillows once more.

They didn’t talk much after that. They were too busy exploring each other’s bodies, learning what happened if he put his fingers _here_ , if she used her mouth _there_ , if he helped her angle her hips _like that_.

After her fifth orgasm of the night, she collapsed face-down in the pillows, Ron coming to rest beside her on the mattress.

“Oh my gods, Ron,” she said, out of breath and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, gratified to see he was in a similar state. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that many times in my life.”

“Me either,” he replied, grinning proudly at her in a way that made her want to cuddle him to her chest. He beat her to it, opening his arms to her and folding her within them when she scooted closer, pressing her lips to his throat.

“Will you stay?” she whispered against his skin, and felt him nod above her. She wrapped her arms around him, lulled to sleep by the feel of his fingers gently stroking her hair.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Pansy woke the next morning, she had a brief moment of panic at finding herself alone in the bed.

Then her eyes caught on a scrap of parchment laid across the pillow next to her head.

_Grabbing breakfast. Be back soon. -R_

She smiled, once again feeling that stupid, giddy sensation in her belly that had been her near-constant companion for the past few days. She pulled herself out of bed, heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth and grab a quick shower before Ron returned.

Thirty minutes later she was clean, dressed, and jotting down some ideas in a notebook when a knock came at the door. She opened it to find Ron, a paper bag in each hand and two large travel mugs of coffee floating beside him.

He grinned at her and she silently rejoiced at the ability to follow her instincts, pushing up onto her toes to grab his face between her hands and snog him senseless. She heard the bags hit the ground as he dropped them, clutching her body to his as he returned her kiss.

“Good morning,” he murmured when they came up for air, using his wand to levitate the bags of food into the room, coffee following close behind as they settled at the small table.

They fed each other bites of the pastries Ron had purchased, Pansy exclaiming at how delicious it all was before being distracted by Ron sucking a bit of filling from a cherry danish off her fingers.

“So what’s on the schedule for today?” he asked her, swallowing the last of his coffee and tossing the empty cup in a nearby trash can. “How many hours do I have to wait before I can see you again?”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” she said, feeling her heartbeat pick up speed as she fought down her nerves. “I’m going to skip my workshops today.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but waited for her to continue.

“You see, I’ve been thinking,” she continued, leaning toward him in an attempt to absorb some of his Gryffindor bravery. “I’m not happy in London. I’m not happy running my blog. I’m not happy being alone.”

He sat up straighter in his chair, hands laced together in front of him on the table, eyes drilling into hers.

“I think I’m going to stay here. To be brave and try something new. To be happy…and to be with you, if you’d like,” she finished shyly.

She didn’t know what reaction she had expected, but a blank stare was what she got.

“Ron?” she asked, nerves returning with a vengeance, making her feel foolish for taking a chance and opening herself up to him like that.

She stood, starting to walk past him before he could see how his silence had hurt her, furious with herself at the tears that stung her eyes.

His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. She glanced down at him, heart pounding, and was surprised to see him looking up at her with the most _earnest_ expression on his face.

“Being with me would make you happy?” he asked softly.

Her breath caught. “If the past few days are any indication; yes,” she replied. “I’d like to stay awhile and find out for sure, if that’s alright with you.”

Rather than answering her, he pulled her down onto his lap, covering her mouth with his own. He threaded his hands into her hair, holding her face still as he slid his tongue into her mouth, grunting softly when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

“I want you to be happy,” he said when they broke apart. “I want you to be proud of your work. I want you to know how brave you already are.” He broke off with a moan as she moved to straddle him, rewarding his sweet words with a slow grind against the front of his body. “And _oh gods_ , Pansy, I want to be with you. So much. More than you could possibly know.”

She smiled against his lips, feeling hopeful about her future for the first time in years. She might be taking the biggest risk of her life, but she was confident the reward was going to be worth it.

“I do have one condition though,” she teased, dropping her head to suck at a sensitive spot beneath his ear.

“What’s that?” he gasped, then stood, hoisting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

“We’re buying you different swim trunks,” she whispered, laughing with him as they tumbled onto the bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ONE YEAR LATER ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pansy made her way to the back of Charlie’s sanctuary, carrying a bucket full of rather disgusting dead ferrets for Carys. As she approached the fence, she caught a flash of green at the far end of the habitat.

“Here you go, girl,” Pansy said, lifting the bucket up and over to fill one of the feeding troughs. Carys’ scaly head appeared next to her, rubbing against her arm in gratitude. Dropping the bucket, she stroked the dragon’s snout, smiling when she heard Ron’s footsteps behind her.

“Ah, I see my girls still love each other more than they love me,” he pouted, sliding his arms around Pansy’s waist from behind and dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. Carys and Pansy let out identical snorts, which sent Ron into fits of laughter.

They spent a few more minutes with the dragon, then turned to leave. Ron’s arm looped loosely around Pansy’s shoulders as they walked, and she tucked her hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

In the time since they had first re-connected, much had changed. She had sold her flat in London, which had allowed her to pay off her parents’ debt and start fresh in the states. She had also launched her new business venture, a local publication called _Smart Witches_. It highlighted witches who had made positive contributions to society, offered expert advice on everything from resume writing to financial planning to parenting, and had a thriving online message board for witches to connect and network with one another. While it was still in its infancy, and not yet turning a huge profit, it allowed Pansy to do something she felt passionate about—and which she could actually take credit for.

Ron’s business, on the other hand, had exploded like fiendfyre. He made enough money with the American version of ONWARD to purchase a small home in Santa Barbara, minutes away from Charlie and across the street from a lovely beach—which also hosted several street taco food trucks once a week. He had asked Pansy to move in with him, and she had accepted.

The two of them, so different on paper, made a good team. He steadied her; she challenged him. She soothed his doubts and fears; he motivated her to be kinder to herself.

He loved her, and she loved him fiercely in return. And that, more than anything, had been worth the risk.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it! Please leave me a comment letting me know what you thought!


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